


Moth and Bulb

by TheIllusiveMantis



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Established Relationship, Gen, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 02:18:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10265318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIllusiveMantis/pseuds/TheIllusiveMantis
Summary: He's the only one keeping us all from falling apart, Oowada realizes, and not for the first time.After the despair incident, Ishimaru takes charge (Because there has to be normalcy in this place).





	

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the whole kit and caboodle.
> 
> I've had this sitting on my computer wanting edits for three or four years, oops! Not much gets dropped into this tag, though, and I wanted to contribute. Hope someone out there is still on the prowl for DR fic like I am. :)

When they see a moth fluttering about the store-room lightbulb, it's the first living thing they've seen in two months besides their fellow classmates, and they watch it like it's the last one of its kind in existence. For all they know, it is.

 

Right off the bat Chihiro names it, which is fucking great because of course it's a tragedy when they find it dead in the dust later. “Riki-kun will have a proper burial,” Ishimaru promises as he delicately handles the tiny insect's body, although he can't help it when one of its wings breaks apart in his hand.

 

Fujisaki looks glum, but Oowada is glad to see the kid keeping himself together for once. “It's alright, Ishimaru-kun,” The tiny kid says, looking down at the floor. “You don't have to go through all the trouble...”

 

“Oh no, did Riki die?” Asahina suddenly pokes her head through the store-room door, standing back and watching the impromptu funeral procession as they make their way into the hallway. “That's too bad! We were thinking of naming him our class mascot...”

 

“That's a bit of a bad joke, isn't it?” Oowada can't help but snap back at her even though after all it _is_ just a damn moth, but he hates to see the kid looking so sad and this really isn't helping. Of course Ishimaru is the one who springs into action.

 

“A posthumous honor, perhaps!” he suggests, giving Asahina a wide smile, then turning back to Fujisaki. “What do you think, Fujisaki-kun?”

 

“U-um, maybe... I mean, we don't really have anything else, do we...”

 

This conversation is so fucked-up, Oowada thinks. Like being on another planet, he thinks. Like this reality is a piss-poor imitation of the one they had before, he thinks. He looks down at his shoes, at the floors he's walked so many times. The school's so empty that their voices echo when they speak. Even their whispers seem to get away from them; if there are ghosts here, surely they are always listening.

 

Is this really the same Hope's Peak Academy that he knew before?

 

In the end, it is concluded the gardens upstairs will make the best final resting place for Riki and he decides to hang back as Ishimaru leads Fujisaki up the stairs with him. He'll only bring the mood down, anyway, he thinks as Ishimaru's voice fades out of echoing range.

 

 _He's the only one keeping us all from falling apart,_ he realizes, and not for the first time.

 

* * *

 

From the first mentions of the word despair, to the moment they'd actually caught their last glimpses of sunlight, Ishimaru hadn't wasted a second. From day one he was keeping morale high, telling his classmates to stay positive; he even managed to outmatch Naegi from time to time when it came to talk of “looking on the bright side” or “viewing the situation from another angle”.

 

And Oowada knows the kinds of things he might've done without him there. The kinds of enemies he would've made, out of people he'd come to think of as friends.

 

“The warning signs were clearly visible,” says Togami on one occasion. “The world was headed this way no matter what 'the Overlord of Despair' might have done.” It's the smuggest thing that rich prick has said since they'd made the decision to close themselves in here. Who does he think he is, saying that now, when all of them were sitting in the same silence, watching the world come crashing down on the television screen? Maybe it's his imagination, but Togami seems to get more and more insufferable every day, almost like it's a defense mechanism.

 

Everyone's actin' normal. Aggressively normal. In a way that isn't normal at all.

 

And if Ishimaru was busy _before_ , funny that the end of the world (and of the Japanese government, and of the entire position of Prime Minister) hasn't freed up his schedule any. Catching a glimpse of him is rare; stealing a moment of his time feels criminal when Oowada sees the anxious look spreading across his face. It gets harder to endure every single day.

 

He takes out his anger on the gym equipment whenever he can, but it's not enough. He wants a face to dig his fists into. He wants someone to blame, and he wants that person to suffer. Occasionally still, Togami makes the stupid mistake of talking, and for just one brief moment, his hatred finds something to latch onto. Lightning striking a tree.

 

Each time, only Ishimaru stands in his way, and Oowada remembers he isn't going to save the world by punching someone, even someone who needs a reality check as brutally as they need a fist in their face.

 

Ishimaru is their pillar of strength.

 

And Oowada is the bug on his windshield.

 

* * *

 

 

“Are you ok, Oowada-kun? You seem a bit...”

 

 _Distant_ is what the kid means to say, as his voice trails off. Oowada makes a huff of false annoyance.

 

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “Just thinkin'.” There's no one around to laugh at _that_ one.

 

“Come to think of it, you haven't said much in the past few days...” Fujisaki's gotten a pretty good feel for how far he can safely stick his nose in Oowada's business. _Damn this kid_ , Oowada thinks, even as he considers how he never had friends _like this_ before Hope's Peak. “Has something been bothering you?”

 

It's true, he hasn't felt like yelling at Kuwata or Hagakure, or even that bastard Togami, in a few days. Apparently a few days without some sort of violence on his end is noteworthy. He grits his teeth and struggles with an answer, trying to push the last few days down into his gut and out of his voice.

 

“Nothin,” he manages. “Tension's just high, I guess.”

 

Fujisaki gives an understanding nod, though something about his manner suggests that, yet again, he's gotten more information out of that conversation than Oowada had intended him to have.

 

The truth is, it's been especially hard for all of them, the last few weeks, since their last _assembly-_ which was what they were calling their meetings with the headmaster in the otherwise empty gymnasium. Ever since Mr. Kirigiri's passing comment about maintaining order and discipline “in these tough times” had reached Ishimaru's ears. Since their Super High School-Level Hall Monitor had taken it as a personal critique.

 

“We're still not used to the way things are, yet...” Fujisaki concedes. “We're not used to... not having families....”

 

Oowada's had a lot more time to get used to that particular detail. Still, he wonders how many of the Crazy Diamonds survived. The individual members, not the gang itself; the “Crazy Diamonds” are dead, and so is a promise.

 

“Yeah,” he gruffs out.

 

They aren't going to get to the heart of it today.

 

* * *

 

Ishimaru doesn't accept invitations anymore.

 

He won't even set foot into the rec room; unless it's to make sure everyone's using a coaster, and no one's putting their feet on the pool table. If two people are sitting too close together on the couch, he gives them a long spiel about “boundaries” until they desist. It's driving everyone up the wall. And the irony of him enforcing these straight-laced propriety rules about gender and sex would be crushing – but, not one to be a hypocrite, he doesn't make any exceptions.

 

Not for himself.

 

The weirdest thing, though, is what he _has_ been doing. Every day he walks the halls. Stops people for random dress code violations. He hasn't done this since their first few months at Hope's Peak Academy, and Oowada doesn't ever remember it being _this_ bad. He's taken to checking his pompadour offhandedly for stray hairs whenever he even hears the sounds of footsteps approaching. As luck would have it, he tucks a loose strand behind his ear a split second before Ishimaru turns the corner.

 

“Kyoudai,” Ishimaru acknowledges him with a brisk nod. “Are you currently headed somewhere?”

 

It's just the gym, to do a few reps with Kuwata, and Oowada's not foolin' anyone if he acts like he's looking forward to it. Another day of listening to people shoot the breeze about the outside world, what things might be like right now, as if there's anything any of them can fuckin' do about it. “Not really...” he replies, and falls closely in step beside Ishimaru. “Need some help with your route?”

 

The wide smile he gets is the reason why. “Please accompany me, kyoudai!” And just like that, he's a hall monitor too. It's a great setup and there's no one around to laugh.

 

This is him being diplomatic. It is. These days the only chance they get to be alone is on these little walks. Ishimaru is busy from sunrise until sundown, and retires to his room, alone, once night falls. They thrived on their life outside the school, before, but now there's this, _only_ this-

 

“Oi, kyoudai, don't you think you've been... working a little too hard?”

 

“...What do you mean?”

 

Even Ishimaru knows the concept of working oneself to the bone. He has to be at his limit. Oowada swallows heavily. “I mean, with everything that's happened... Who cares if someone's shirt is a little crooked, yanno?? You could take a break,” he pauses, “come to my room, sometimes.” Lets his words hang in the air.

 

The motion of Ishimaru's neck is resolute. “The situation being what it is, a disciplinarian is needed now more than ever! 16 students, with only one educator to bear the burden...!”

 

“I mean, even so...” God, why did he play along with this stupid bullshit every time? Is what he thinks, whenever he's not actually _looking_ into those big eyes. “If nothin's, uh, _amiss_ today, we should take off early. Everyone's gotten better, at er, maintaining the public order, I think...”

 

There's a vagueness in Ishimaru as he hums in agreement. “...It does seem as though the importance of immaculate personal appearance is finally resonating with our peers.” They've all gotten _really_ good at passing his inspections, in other words.

 

“In that case...” Oowada nudges his shoulder with his fist, only hard enough to make him flinch. “You'll keep me company, then, eh?”

 

Ishimaru hesitates before accepting his invitation. Why is it that now, when they have no tests to study for, no internships to consider, he's always hesitating?

 

“Of course, kyoudai.” His nod is brisk after the pause. “Please lead the way.”

 

* * *

 

His eyes don't seem tired. None of him does.

 

It's a really great mask, Oowada admits, but it comes off the instant he closes his eyes, and within half a minute Ishimaru Kiyotaka is fast asleep in a position Oowada would describe as “uncomfortable”. His uniform is still perfectly clinging to him at every joint. Oowada leans over, undoes the top button on his collar, gives him a chance to breathe. He's sure earned that one.

 

For a while he just sits there and watches, watches the even rhythmic breathing that follows a predictable pattern. Order even in sleep, Ishimaru would like to hear that, wouldn't he? Before this, Ishimaru had been talking nonstop of his plans for the rest of the evening, even once they were alone, when they could've been doing so many other things. Instead he spoke of patrolling the entrances and exits, checking in on Naegi who had been looking a bit feverish, making sure Asahina planned to go to sleep at a suitable hour, reminding Celes of the curfew, if need be...

 

_“Oi, kyoudai, this section of my bed feels like it's got a lump in it, can you test it out for me?” “...I can detect nothing, kyoudai!” “Wait, hold still, you're not gonna feel it like that...”_

 

Oowada distantly wonders if any part of Ishimaru had been playing along, and not accepting the assignment in earnest. Either way, at least now, he can be the one at fault, and Ishimaru won't blame himself for dozing off carelessly. Oowada sure as hell isn't going to wake him up.

 

The next few hours pass uneventfully, and Oowada finally feels the pull of sleep at his own eyelids. He puts down the magazine and carefully slides into the unoccupied space in the bed next to Ishimaru.

 

It's around 2am when he's woken up by the loud sounds of boot-heels pacing the inside of his room.

 

“Kyoudai?” he ventures into the darkness, and gropes for the lamp. “'What'sa matter? What're you-”

 

“Returning to my room,” is the succinct answer, right as Oowada flips the switch and casts light into the room (which is pitch black without it; no windows, no sun), and there Ishimaru stands, looking more tired than he ever has, like sleep is a ghost that haunts him. He's re-collected all his things; his ledgers, his schedules, all the pointless crap he's poured his life into since they started doing time here.

 

“Don't be stupid,” Oowada barks out as him, as well as he can with his brain still muddled, but he's blinking hard and rubbing a hand across his eyes to rid himself of that disadvantage. “There's a bed right here. Go back to sleep already.”

 

“No.” They don't make eye contact as Ishimaru shakes his head mechanically. “It was an act of gross neglect for me to fall asleep on the job.” Then his back is turned, and he's wiping his free hand furiously down the front of his jacket. “And to be in another student's room past curfew...!!”

 

A million things boil to the surface inside Oowada's head. _This ain't a damn job!!_ He wants to scream. _This ain't school! This ain't normal! I ain't just some student!_ He doesn't trust himself enough to speak for a few moments, and besides, he isn't sure this isn't all a dream.

 

Ishimaru is already marching towards the door. He fights down the urge to put his fist in the wall.

 

“Didn't have to wake me up,” he barks, making sure it's loud enough for Ishimaru to hear, and he steels himself against the hurt as he plunges back into the pillows.

 

The door clicks open, and Oowada flings a hand out to turn off the light, then stops. He hears Ishimaru's footsteps grind to a halt outside. And voices.

 

“Uh, hi, Ishimaru...”

 

“Yeah, did you... lose track of time, too?”

 

Light from the hallway outside catches the opposite wall. Oowada blinks a few times to clear the last bits of sleep from his eyes, and pulls himself out of the bed. Ishimaru hasn't closed the door yet, and Oowada creeps up to peer out into the hallway. He doesn't expect to see half the class – no, more, almost their whole number – right outside his door, holding their day-bags, most already in their swimsuits, and nearly all with guilty looks on their faces. Ishimaru stands in the midst of it all. It becomes obvious very quickly what this is.

 

“Out past curfew? All of you? All at one time?” The gears are turning in Ishimaru's head. It looks like each rotation hurts him. “Naegi-kun... what is the meaning of this??”

 

“It seems to me like you are, too,” Celes quickly butts in, somehow a different person without her clip-ons, “or do you mean to say that you're above the rules that apply to the rest of us?”

 

Even from this angle, Oowada can see the red that flushes up and reaches his ears. “I was engaged in important business in kyoudai's room,” Ishimaru sputters. “Not that it is any excuse!!”

 

“...You don't have to be embarrassed, you know,” Asahina says. Suddenly her eyes flicker upwards and she stares, perhaps the first person to notice Oowada lingering just inside the room.

 

“Wh-what do you mean??” Ishimaru presses.

 

“I think she means, you know, we all know about...” Naegi's eyes go between Ishimaru and Oowada in silence. He doesn't finish the sentence.

 

“It is not about that,” Ishimaru insists. He sounds so frustrated, so overwhelmed, like his feet are dangling and he's clinging to his last piece of rope. “I cannot allow myself to take part in such behavior that I would disapprove of in any of you...!”

 

Kuwata steps forward this time. “Why not?” he challenges. “It's like she says. It's not as though you're any better than the rest of us.”

 

“I've never made that claim,” Ishimaru responds, after a short quiet.

 

“It doesn't really matter what any of us do, right...?” Hagakure scratches the side of his face with one hand. “I mean, it's the end of the world, isn't it?”

 

A mutter goes up through the rest of them. Asahina looks embarrassed to agree. “I don't want to argue, Ishimaru-kun, but... is our conduct really important in this situation?” She passes glances at the faces of their other classmates, maybe making sure she speaks for the group. “I think we should all do whatever makes us happy.”

 

People make noises to agree. “ _No!_ ” Ishimaru yells out, cutting over their voices, surprising even Oowada. All eyes are on him now. “If we begin to act as though things are different, as if the world is ending, we may begin to believe it! And that is not the case! There is no reason to change our behavior! We must carry on as before!”

 

“For the sake of your... power fantasy?” Fukawa mutters, quietly enough, but Ishimaru hears it. No way he doesn't.

 

He doesn't acknowledge the comment. “Let us all return to our rooms at once!! I expect to see you all for breakfast at the regular time! Please don't talk any more of things like that!”

 

If his words aren't persuading them to move the hell along, perhaps Oowada's stare does the trick. One by one, each of their classmates hesitantly returns to their respective room, making a show of closing the door after them. Oowada has absolutely no doubt that they mean to go to the pool after Ishimaru is back in his room, maybe laugh about their bad timing later. Before long, they are standing alone in the hallway. Oowada doesn't know what else he can do.

 

“The world is not ending,” Ishimaru states, resolutely. He looks up at Oowada like he wants to be told he's right.

 

“'Course not,” Oowada agrees, quietly.

 

“ _Absolutely_ not,” Ishimaru echoes.

 

He's so damn tired of playing pretend. “Hey... kyoudai...” Oowada begins, cautiously, as he puts a hand on his shoulder. Makes sure his voice is gentle, not angry. His anger feels so ugly when they're together. “Y'know it's... not such a bad thing, right? Spending some time in my room, once in a while?”

 

Ishimaru, to his pain, tenses up at the touch. “Even the smallest infraction of the established rules can set forth a chain reaction,” he murmurs. “...At Hope's Peak Academy, it is forbidden for students to spend the night in each other's rooms...”

 

The knot in his chest flares right back up. “You really think we're still in Hope's Peak, huh??” Oowada demands of him. The site where so many students were massacred, the building that was to be their prison. The building he and Kuwata had named Hell's Peak, in places where Ishimaru couldn't hear.

 

Their disciplinarian, their pillar of strength, looks totally confused, like he's just been handed a trick question. “Yes,” he answers, in the affirmative, after too long of a gap. Again the hesitation.

 

Oowada lets him go back to his room.

 

* * *

 

The next day, at breakfast – when Oowada finally makes it down to the cafeteria – Naegi is sitting across from Ishimaru, and the two are in the middle of quiet conversation.

 

Some impulse makes him want to turn around mid-step and head back to his room. He'd _thought_ maybe showing up an hour late would do the trick as far as clearing everyone out, not that he'd really had to plan for it- all he had to do was not set an alarm.

 

Still, he raises his arm in a halfassed wave as Naegi notices him, and Ishimaru turns around a second later. If he regrets his behavior at all, he sure doesn't show it. “Ah, kyoudai!” he pipes up, as soon as Oowada is within 10 feet of the table. “It was my intention to knock on your door to wake you up! But then Naegi-kun insisted on-”

 

“ _S'fine_.” Oowada's already making his first steps into the kitchen, and he can hear Ishimaru trail off outside. He doesn't allow himself to feel guilt or pity or nothin' else.

 

When he re-emerges a few minutes later with some plates and some food and the last donut, Naegi tries to catch his attention. “I wanted to let Ishimaru-kun know about last night,” he explains, even as Oowada immediately slouches down in front of his food. “And how we were all just stressed out, which is why we went to the pool... We actually knocked on both doors, meaning to tell you, but we figured you were both asleep...”

 

Ishimaru gives a quick nod. “Though these nighttime activities are explicitly against school rules, I was not unable to understand the reasoning behind them, once Naegi-kun cared to explain the situation. As you know, exercise has an important role in relieving tension.”

 

“That's good.” He takes a bite. Doesn't bother trying to swallow before he opens his mouth again. “Guess Naegi talked some sense into ya.” Apparently all it had taken was an hour of the kid's time to get Ishimaru to back off a bit from his rules kick. That's impressive, since Oowada's been trying to accomplish the same thing for weeks with no results. Whatever impulse he felt walking into the cafeteria, he feels it budding up stronger now.

 

He clenches his fist; some bread crumbles.

 

Maybe they finally notice. Naegi rises to his feet. “Ishimaru-kun... if you still wanted to go to the sauna later...”

 

“Of course, Naegi-kun! I'm expecting to see you promptly at 4pm today!”

 

“Uhm... well if you say _exactly_ 4pm, then I guess I'll leave early...”

 

Naegi is hardly out the door when Oowada's standing too, wiping off his mouth with a hasty swipe of a napkin, and leaving the remains of his breakfast out on the table. “I'll see ya later, kyoudai,” he manages.

 

“Kyoudai, wait!” he hears, and Ishimaru scrambling to his feet, followed by the sounds of him hurriedly collecting the trash. Oowada is gone before he finishes.

 

* * *

 

He finds Fujisaki in the computer lab, and thanks whatever divine power that the kid's so predictable. He's probably the one person who can't piss him off right now.

 

Oowada leans back in the spare chair, and they hear it squeak with the burden of his weight combined with the creative angle he's pushing it into. Fujisaki occasionally casts a glance at him, in between bouts of typing. It's like he knows what's coming. Eventually.

 

It comes when Oowada picks up a soda can someone had left on the desk, and crunches it forcefully in his fist.

 

“I'm going crazy in here,” he spits.

 

“Oowada-kun...”

 

Feeling that the can's empty, he tosses it down a row of desks, watching it clatter around helplessly before finally falling onto the floor. Another mess for Ishimaru to clean up on his all-important patrols.

 

“We're all just trying to do the best that we can here...” Fujisaki murmurs, staring down at his knees, and Oowada feels the unpleasant pang of guilt for makin' him see that display, even if Fujisaki'd said a million times that they were both men, and that he wasn't offended by anger. “I'm sure whoever it was-”

 

“Who says it was one person, eh?” He's still thinking about Ishimaru's face as he gives a nearby trash can a spiteful little kick. “I know everyone's going through the same thing, but... bastard doesn't need to...!!”

 

“Oowada-kun... if you don't mind me asking...” Fujisaki had that tone like he was about to prove, once again, that he was too damn smart for his own good. “If this is about Ishimaru-k-”

 

“ _Bastard_ ,” Oowada repeats, glaring daggers still at the offending trash can. “Who does he think he is, huh?? Thinking we can't fuckin' function without some kinda authority breathing down our necks??”

 

“But, if it was just about that, you wouldn't...”

 

Fujisaki trails off as Oowada leans heavily into his elbows and knees. “Course it's not just that,” he growls. “He could try treating me less like I'm... like I'm-!”

 

Footsteps approach the computer room, and Oowada stops cold in the middle of his sentence, but it's just the big bastard Yamada, giving him a meek little wave as he greets them both and takes a tentative seat at a nearby computer.

 

“Oowada-kun,” Fujisaki tries, timidly, “if you'd like to-”

 

Oowada doesn't feel like speaking in a quieter voice. And he decides he doesn't give a shit about what Yamada thinks of him. “If he's gonna keep forgettin' what we are, then maybe I will too,” he finishes resolutely, pushing up from the chair.

 

“Um, I don't know if that's necessarily... I mean, do you really think it's...”

 

“What?”

 

Chihiro is glancing every which way before finally looking up at him. “I don't think it's that... he forgot.”

 

“Whatever it is, I hate it.” He fixes his glare on the door to the computer room. “I hate livin' like this.”

 

“We all do.” Fujisaki says earnestly.

 

“You know what I meant.”

 

“Oowada-kun-” but Oowada leans back in his chair forcefully enough to make a squeak, and glares off in another direction, which is a pretty strong hint that the conversation is over.

 

A moment passes. Then Fujisaki tries again.

 

“Whatever you're thinking of doing,” he begins, “Don't do it. ...I think, would be best.”

 

* * *

 

The great thing is, he doesn't even _have_ to pretend.

 

He doesn't see Ishimaru the rest of the day, and that's that, so he lets himself get caught up in an argument between Kuwata and Hagakure, laughing and pointing fingers and letting Hagakure know he was a hell of an idiot if he really thought a girl like Yutori Shio, though a great dancer and singer in her own right, could hold a candle to their own Maizono.

 

Yutori was dead now, of course. Of that, they had no doubt. They didn't feel the need to discuss that detail.

 

“I'm just saying!” Hagakure insists with an increasingly overwhelmed tone, emphatically cupping imaginary watermelons in front of his chest.

 

“You can't compare their faces, though, man!”

 

Kirigiri is sitting a short distance away, absolutely stonefaced, while sitting on the couch and staring at the pool table. She's got a mug in her hands. From the look on her face, she might as well be on another planet, for how much of a presence she's putting up in this room. Oowada has a strange revelation, like he hasn't seen her in ages. He supposes she's always there, quiet, observing.

 

A short time later, Celestia appears in the doorway. “Pardon me for interrupting,” she begins, “but I think he'd like to see us.”

 

They don't need to be told who. A flicker of intelligence comes back to Kirigiri's eyes in less than a second. “Is it important?” Kuwata asks with half a whine.

 

“My understanding is, anytime the headmaster wants to speak with all of us at once, then that is the general tendency.”

 

Everyone has already gathered there by the time they arrive, except for Yamada, who huffs onto the scene a few seconds later, having apparently gotten wrapped up in plotting his most recent work.

 

“What's the point, without an audience to read it?” Celestia wonders aloud.

 

“Nonsense, Celes-kun! Yamada-kun's audience is all currently present!” Ishimaru indicated their group with a large sweep of his arm. “Yamada-kun!! I will personally be first in line to purchase your newest work!!”

 

“Ahaha, I don't know if it will necessarily be for _sale!_... That's right, a free edition!! To all of my classmates here at Hope's Peak!!”

 

“ _Hell's_ Peak,” Kuwata says, automatically, nudging Oowada and _that's_ when he and Ishimaru lock eyes. Oowada breaks it off with a turn of his head and makes a sharp sound under his breath.

 

Kirigiri Jin is sitting in his usual spot in the auditorium, on the stage next to the podium. “Everyone sit,” he gestures, and no one is quicker to comply than Ishimaru. (It's too utterly predictable and Leon snickers.) “I'll explain the situation.”

 

The situation, it comes out, is this: The French president had been assassinated earlier that day.

 

The silence that follows their headmaster's statement is long, and eerie, like no one's quite sure how to break it. Finally, Oogami, in dark and contemplative tones: “That is to say, then, that all of the world leaders from before the despair incident have been-”

 

“Yes,” Togami interrupts. “ _That_ process is finally resolved. As we all should have predicted from the very beginning.”

 

Oowada hadn't known a damn thing about world leaders before any of this began, and this French guy – he still could barely pronounce his _name_ , even when he seemed to be suddenly the most important person on Earth just through his continued existence.

 

He manages a glance at Ishimaru, who is staring resolutely at his hands and knees, and distinctly _not_ at the teacher who is talking.

 

“The power structure that existed in our world before is now utterly dissolved,” Kirigri Jin concludes. “You've probably already concluded that whatever comes after this, if anything, will be changed in every way. Unrecognizable to all of us, is my guess.”

 

“That's part of our responsibility, isn't it?” Asahina, quietly. “Helping contribute to the new world, whatever it is?”

 

Oowada isn't quite sure what a gang leader could contribute in a time like this. But, maybe there will be a need for a carpenter, he thinks idly before he can stop himself. (Actually, on further reflection, there might be more of a need for his talents than that of a swimmer, or a manga artist...!)

 

Their gathering soon comes to an end. Everyone gets up to leave as soon as they are dismissed; again, in truest predictable fashion, Ishimaru first. His pace is brisk. He doesn't look back.

 

* * *

 

Oowada is in his room that night when an unexpected sound occurs.

 

 _Knock, knock._ A swift rapping.

 

“Yeah, right there,” he calls before catching himself, forgetting for a moment the soundproofing in the dorms. It had been so long since anyone had come to his room.

 

He opens the door and Ishimaru is standing there, his posture rigid and Oowada automatically turns aside to let him come in. “S'this a room inspection?” he asks, as a wry sort of joke, but Ishimaru does not so much as begin to smile or frown.

 

 _This is strange,_ Oowada thinks instantly. _Something is wrong._ He closes the door behind him and puts both hands on the other's shoulders. “Kyoudai?” he asks, before deciding that wasn't right. “Kiyo-”

 

Ishimaru moves. He leans into Oowada's chest, just sort of falling into it at first, looking almost as though he'd lost his balance before Oowada feels hands hook tightly around his back in a deathgrip. He quickly embraces him. “Hey, hey,” he tries, but the comfort sounds so confused. Ishimaru wasn't acting hurt or sad before, so why...

 

He cranes his neck back a little and catches Ishimaru's face in his hands. The tears are flowing freely and silently, his eyes wet and red and his lip pursed hard while snot and saliva threaten to seep out from all over. “It's ok,” he tries again, shifting a hand up to move through his hair in what he hopes is a comforting motion. “Hey...”

 

It's like a dam bursts and Ishimaru makes a choked sound, and then the sobs are echoing loudly throughout the room, and Oowada reels him back in as he realizes what this is. It's the last three months, coming back up for air. It's _three months_ of every negative feeling coming out at once; every feeling of Ishimaru's, and every feeling of their classmates, too, all locked up inside one vessel. He holds him tight as if he means to squeeze them all out. “You're ok. We're ok. We're gonna do fine. The world's gonna be ok. _kyoudai_ , don't cry, Kiyotaka...”

 

Ishimaru never says a word. He falls asleep an hour later with his head against Oowada's chest, with dried tears and saliva on his face, and Oowada doesn't stop rubbing his back as he stares up at his ceiling. He wants to punch something, not for the first time. He wants to swear, violently, not for the first time. He wants to cry, not for the first time. There's only one thing he can do with Ishimaru asleep on top of him.

 

* * *

 

When the sleep clears, foggily, naturally, red eyes are looking back at him.

 

At some point Ishimaru had either fallen or crawled off (or Oowada had twisted and thrashed in his sleep; that seemed most likely, come to think of it) and now they were lying side-by-side, same as the last time they'd been in the same bed together. But Ishimaru isn't leaving, and he doesn't look like he's preparing to, either.

 

“You were right,” he says, simply. And then, “Did you sleep well, kyoudai?”

 

“Yeah, fine – what do you mean?” Oowada is rubbing the last of the haze from his eyes, but in the low light, everything is still a blur. It's nice.

 

Before their conversation goes any further, he leans forward across the bed, closing the few inches that exist between them. When his lips meet Ishimaru's, he finds him already humming at the contact. Before long Ishimaru has crushed their bodies together in, again, what's more of a desperate hug than any kind of romantic embrace. But that's ok.


End file.
